


Chemistry series

by squire



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: 221B Ficlet, Chemistry, Gen, prompt fills
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-23
Updated: 2013-02-23
Packaged: 2017-12-16 21:36:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 1,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/866875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/squire/pseuds/squire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of 221B's ending with all the b-elements of the periodic table.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Beryllium

**Author's Note:**

> When swissmarg prompted "A series of 221B's ending with all the b-elements of the periodic table", I could not let it pass by. Especially when she offered to beta and brit-pick it too:)

  
" _Papyrus Graecus Holmiensis_ ," reads John from behind Sherlock's back. "I didn't know your family roots date back into the fourth century." He ducks just in time.

"The fact that the man used this ancient recipe for artificial beryl and emerald to manufacture his jewel imitations was the only interesting aspect of this case."

Sherlock picks up his pen from the floor and walks over to the kitchen, stretching his back. The case turned out to be more work than he anticipated. John, on the other hand, is in a sparkling mood.

"If I were an element, which one I would be?"

The chemist in Sherlock doesn't miss the spark, igniting the fire of his own interest.

"It should be something transparent, at least for shorter wavelengths," he teases.

"To explain why your x-ray eyes always see right through me," John smiles.

"Something hard and resilient. Low abrasivity. Good heat resistance," Sherlock enumerates the material properties as if they were personal virtues.

"The heat was one of the things I didn't mind in Afghanistan," John agrees.

 _Definitely something rare and precious._ Sherlock won't say this aloud. He doesn't need to.

Sometimes the answer lies right before one's eyes. Sherlock lifts the imitation of the beryl coronet from the table and crowns his friend with it before he can duck again.

"You're beryllium."  



	2. Boron

One adventurous (according to a certain detective) and bloody hazardous (according to his personal doctor) evening near the Thames and Sherlock is suffering from the mother of all colds. As usual, he had dismissed it as "simply a bit of a runny nose, really John," until said nose felt as if it were filled up with concrete and John suspects a fairly advanced inflammation of the nasal cavities.

Not that it can stop him from performing dazzling deductions; just that he only blindsides John with them because...

"It's clear the ban had codjucktivitis, he had a bottle of boric acid solution to wash his eyes with in his pocket. Doh way he could fire the shot at that distance, he could barely bake out his owd watch, why didn't adybody dotice his pink eyes? The real burderer fired the shot frob behind hib and thed pushed hib off the roof."

"I still don't get it." John smiles and hopes Sherlock knows it's not mockery. No harm can be done treating a cold with hot tea and some pampering.

"How you're able to deduce this all from a little bottle and how stupid the murderer was to have left it in the man's pocket."

Sherlock shrugs, concealing his pride behind a large handkerchief. "Either way, what gave it away was the boron."  



	3. Bromine

  
The tea is still scalding hot, so John leaves it on the counter to finish it after his shower.

It takes him six minutes longer than usual. Then he dresses for four minutes longer than usual. The deviation from John's routine disturbs Sherlock enough to lift his eyes from his experiments.

It's this woman John's been dating for two months. Mary something. Sherlock's annoyed to find he actually remembers her name. This woman is dangerous, and not the right kind of danger.

Sherlock focuses back on the brown liquid in his pipette. Halogen. Greek for 'salt producer'. Sherlock's mood is acidic, but his smile is sweet as a sugar when he drops the tiniest amount of light brown solution into the cooling tea. Dark brown Lapsang souchong. Tastes and smells horrible already, John won't notice anything amiss.

When John emerges again, his shave is flawless and he's wearing his best shirt. Clearly looking forward to getting bedded tonight. Just when Sherlock needs him for a case.

"Do something about that smell, Sherlock."

The recruits in military training in Eastern Europe during the Cold War always complained about the taste of their tea. They didn't know that the Army was keeping their libido fairly low for obvious reasons. No need to mess things up with _transport_.

A really useful substance, this bromine.  



	4. Barium

  
"They say it feels like giving birth to a hedgehog."

From the locked loo echo the sounds of Sherlock's suffering, reminding John of a delivery he happened to assist once back in Afghanistan. Sixteen-year-old mother and breech birth, surgery inaccessible. The girl had to push it through.

"Very apt description, thank you, John," Sherlock is panting. But John won’t be taking pity on him.

"They did warn you about the risk of a small disturbance in bowel movement, didn't they?"

"A 'small disturbance' is hardly an appropriate term for this terrible forty-eight-hour long ordeal." Sherlock emerges from the loo, pale and sweating.

"You could undergo the gastroenteroscopy. Much more up-to-date method, not to mention the diagnostic accuracy. Can't imagine why you insisted on the follow through procedure," John sighs.

"I'm not swallowing anything that would still poke out of my mouth afterward." Sherlock looks genuinely terrified. Some people exhibit a strange reluctance to swallow the cable with the camera, John's seen enough of it at the clinic. Sherlock demanded radiography with a vehemence surpassed only by the disgust he showed later when he had to ingest the horrible porridge seasoned with radio-opaque salt.

"Hope this will teach you not to experiment on yourself. Your stomach isn't made of steel."

"Even if it were, I wouldn't think of doping it with barium."  



	5. Bismuth

  
"Ouch! Careful, there!"

Another pellet clinked into the bowl with a silvery metallic sound.

"You were perfectly aware that the suspect was armed. As I recall, it was you telling me to 'cover my arse', to use your exact words."

 _The universe has such a sense of irony_ , John thought and gritted his teeth, while his friend prodded at his left thigh with a pair of tweezers. Sherlock could be running through the woods with his head held recklessly high, and John with his military training would be the one who gets shot. With a shot gun.

"You're lucky that the idiot used crappy ammunition. Should the shot have been fired at its full penetrating power, I would have had to take you to hospital."

John concentrated on the view their hotel room windows offered, a little artificial hill in a flat landscape, raised to allow people to enjoy the pleasures of the winter season. Several lonely skiers were pretending there was actually snow.

"Be sure to get all of them," he ordered impatiently. "I don't fancy dying from lead poisoning."

"No lead, John. The Dutch have barely any wilderness left, but they protect it quite vigorously. The use of lead for hunting has been prohibited in the Netherlands. The pellets in shot gun ammunition are made of tin and bismuth."  



	6. Berkelium

  
"This..." John breathed in to find a suitable profanity but failed; the extent of what he was currently staring at outgunning all his rich vocabulary, and concluded rather weakly: "...is a mess."

"Just a fermentation reaction." Sherlock tried to tame the content of the bottles, putting plastic lids over them. Two of the lids went off seconds later with a loud pop and collided with the ceiling, leaving a mark there. John sighed.

"A bit of an excessive one," Sherlock added guiltily.

"As long as you clean up afterwards and don't use anything radioactive or mutagenic, I don't care what it is." John waved an exhausted hand.

"I'm wondering," he added after a while, "were you like this as a kid? Blowing things up and dreaming of discovering an element so they would name it after you?"

"Elements aren't discovered in fermentation reactions. You'd need a nuclear reactor for a new one. Besides, the element Holmium is already taken. Atomic number 67. Rare earth element."

"Wow. Any relative of yours, the discoverer?"

"Hardly, John. My family members always engaged in politics, save for my grandmother's brother, who was an artist. The name comes from the Swedish city of Stockholm."

"Too bad. What about Bakerium?" Sherlock had to smile at John's insistence.

"That would only cause confusion. Sounds too close to Berkelium."  



	7. Bohrium

  
Sherlock counts his birthday amongst the most annoying days of year, surpassed only by Christmas holidays. Mostly because Mycroft feels compelled to pay him a visit on both occasions.

"If only he would give me a case," Sherlock complains, contradicting his previous statements on working for Mycroft and scowling at the parcel left on the mantelpiece.

Yes, John thinks, and that's the crux of the matter, with Sherlock's birthday coming so close after Christmas, he's never rewarded with a nice homicide as a birthday present - seems that the criminals are sentimental and simply don't do crimes.

Then Mrs Hudson requires something of Sherlock, of all things, and when he returns to the living room, John's nowhere to be seen and there's a sheet of paper on the table. A note in John's handwriting:

2-15-15-39;35-90-66;3-81;62-90-49;Be;92: 74-2-75; 95;53?

Sherlock feels excitement flooding his veins and the wheels of his brain ratcheting up to full speed.

A couple of minutes later he marches triumphantly into his bedroom to find his friend, grinning, holding a meticulously wrapped parcel behind his back. Sherlock doesn't scowl this time. The riddle made all this tedious birthday business actually bearable.

"Feeling better?" John asks.

"Definitely not hundred-and-seventhed," Sherlock murmurs amusedly and John's eyes scan the table above their heads to find the most satisfactory reply: 107 - bohrium.  



End file.
